


The Remains of that Day

by Anielka



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste Lives, Corpse Bride AU, F/M, Kastor is still a piece of garbage, Laurent... does not, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Theomedes is dead, This was supposed to be done before October ended and be waaayyy shorter but fuck planning amirite, i'm giving Aimeric a sort of redemption arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:04:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anielka/pseuds/Anielka
Summary: To prevent the war between Vere and Akielos, King Auguste and newly crowned King Damianos meet in Vere to make an alliance. But as Damen's presence starts ruining the plans of the former Regent, he finds himself in a precarious place between life and death and a conspiracy that started over seven years ago with the death of Prince Laurent.The real question is, will Damen manage to bring peace and justice to the dead or will he join them in their graves?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had over 2 months to do this shit, why am I like this??  
> This was supposed to be a gift for myself for Halloween, but I'm starting it as a Day of the Death surprise and we'll see if I manage to fucking finish it before Christmas.   
> Pray so that I learn to fucking follow a schedule.

 

Damen had barely seen Vere and he already hated it.

The dark, sad atmosphere was driving him crazy. The grey buildings were nothing like the pale white akielon palaces, all open windows, and clear skies. In Vere the windows had bars and the sky was eternally cloudy.

“It’s because it’s October.” Had said Guion, the ambassador, but the idea of a summer spent in Vere didn’t make Damen any happier. The whole alliance of their kingdoms was a nightmare that kept on going. While Damen was looking forward to a future without war, the idea of having to seat with the veretian council and talk and agree was enough to give him a headache.

Not that it was hard these days for him to have headaches. The physicians insisted it was the stress and pressure of the situations around him. That made Damen chuckle.

The physicians had no idea how much stress he was under. The whole situation with Kastor and Jokaste was not something known.

Not that Damen cared much about keeping up appearances anymore. Right now, he was fine with looking the other way when they walked into a room together; Damen was too busy trying to make it out of the meetings with the veretian council unscathed, he wouldn’t have had the time to accompany Jokaste through the pregnancy. To build a kingdom his father would have been proud of, Damen needed to place his full attention in ruling.

Ambassador Guion was the first one to get out the carriage when they finally arrived at the castle. At the front doors, King Auguste and his closest advisers were waiting for them.

As Damen came closer to the king he could appreciate his looks better. His straight nose and light blue eyes were a sight to behold. A stray lock had escaped the simple braid he wore, and Damen would have been tempted to return it to its proper place had his hand not been caught by Auguste’s in a tight clasp. He was a man of strength.

“Our brother of Akielos.” He said in akielon, albeit in a strong veretian answer.

“Our brother of Vere,” Damen answered in veretian. He had expected no courtesies like this, and it surprised and relieved him that King Auguste had taken the time to learn the most appropriate akielon greeting between royals.

If this was King Auguste’s rule, perhaps the negotiations would not be as terrible as he expected them to be.

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

Damen had never been more wrong in his life.

The negotiations were a total disaster: every person inside the rooms and around the table was angry and willing to fight. There were thinly veiled insults and not-veiled insults and screams and accusations and condescending stares.

Both he and Auguste tried their very best to smooth the tensions in the room, but it was downright impossible. They had been at it for hours now with literally no results.

“Enough, enough!” Auguste called out, one hand raised and the veretian councilors turned to attend his words. “That’s enough.” Auguste sighed and turned to his left. “Uncle, what’s the next topic to review?”

The man barely had to look at the papers in front of him to answer.

“Delfeur.” He said.

“It’s called Delpha.” Kastor, at Damen’s right, called out, and the discussions began again, even louder than before.

Damen’s temples throbbed for the hundredth time and he rubbed them lightly while Auguste called for silence again, this time unsuccessfully.

“This is impossible.” He grumbled, throwing his head back.

“It does seem so.” He heard Auguste lean back on his chair. Damen shifted his head to see him and they shared looks. Damen gave him a small smile, he hoped, would convey his feelings.

Auguste smiled back and waved to him in a ‘do as you please’ gesture.

Damen nodded in thanks and stood up.

People around him shut up until the room was quiet.

“We’re taking a break.” He told them.

“Thank the Gods.” Someone who sounded suspiciously like Nikandros said. The men started standing from their chairs and taking the”eir leave. The man on Auguste’s side, his Uncle, motioned to someone from under the table and a small child came out from its depths.

“That was boring.” The kid said, his voice still high pitched. The Uncle placed a hand over the child’s locks and chuckled, and Damen felt his throat tighten. Only the Gods knew what the kid had been doing under there.

As he looked around he noticed he shared his disgust with Auguste, who was looking at the pair with a frown. When he realized Damen was looking at him he relaxed his face as best as he could and motioned Damen to the door.

“We best follow them outside.” He said.

“We could lock them out.” Damen reasoned. “We could finish the negotiations ourselves today and use the next days as vacations.”

That made Auguste laugh.

“Oh, we should! Yet I fear, brother of Akielos, if I hear one more proposal of shared rights and compensations my head will explode.” Damen chuckled. He could relate.

“Call me Damen.” He told the King with a smile.

“Only if you call me Auguste.”

They smiled at their newfound truce and walked out.

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

“Well, hello brother.”

“Kastor,” Damen turned around to meet his brother in his rooms. “Did you really have to say that about Delpha?”

Kastor shrugged.

“It is still ours, let us call it whatever we want.”

Damen shook his head. Kastor had a very particular sense of humor, a bit too dark and entirely too cynical. It took time getting used to it.

“Maybe so,” he conceded. “But we still need civility to achieve true peace.”

He must have sounded as tired as he felt, because Kastor placed a hand on his shoulder, as he used to do when they were still children, and looked at him with worry in his eyes.

“Damen, how’s your head? Still hurting?” Damen made a pained noise as the answer. “Why don’t you enjoy the break in the true fresh air? I believe there is a garden like the one in the summer palace going that way.” He pointed to their left, where a path strayed away from the low rose bushes into taller and darker trees, a more secluded area.

Damen looked at Kastor with suspicion, and his brother raised his hands smirking.

“I’m just thinking, worst case scenario? You got lost while enjoying all the magnificent wilderness of Vere.” Damen chuckled at that, and Kastor smiled unabashedly.

Damen was happy his relationship with his brother wasn’t entirely ruined over their most recent troubles. It was a relief that, through it all, he would still have his brother looking out for him.

 

The walk through the gardens had turned out nice enough, even if Damen kept running into kissing couples every other corner. The more he walked the thicker the trees turned, and the stronger the smell became. He could enjoy the freshness the pines exuded and the far away noises and cracking twigs, the calls of birds he had never heard.

He must have spent more time than he had been aware of there because before he noticed, the sun was almost set, the calming shade of the trees becoming sinister.

He began retracing his steps back to the castle when the sound of hurried footsteps over the dry leaves made him turn.

“Hello?” He said in veretian. “Is someone there?”

He walked a couple of steps in the direction he had heard the noise. From behind a tree, a figure peaked out. Damen could only make out long yellow hair.

Damen’s posture went from tense to almost shy. What was she doing out here?

“Jokaste?” He called out to her and switched to akielon. “Is it you?” He walked toward the tree.

The figure stepped back and ran away, light on their feet.

“Jokaste, wait!” He ran after her. She was way faster than he remembered her, faster than she should while being pregnant.

The footsteps stopped as the mysterious person hid behind another tree. Damen had seen the mane of hair flowing with the wind, and the tease of pale, high cheekbones.

“Jokaste, you shouldn’t be here.” He kept his voice soft. “You have to be careful with your baby. Jokaste?”

She would not answer. Damen frowned.

“Jokaste, are you alright?” He was almost there, a couple of steps away from the tree when a figure crept from a blind spot on his right.

“Jokaste- agh!” He gasped out in pain as something sharp went through his side and was promptly taken out. Damen put his hand over the spot and felt light-headed at the wet sensation over his shirt. He was no stranger to blood, but he was extremely surprised at the attack. Had he been followed?

He raised his eyes from the wound to his attacker: a huge man, big-boned and heavy muscled, this visible even through his clothes. He was frowning, obviously unhappy that Damen was still on his feet. He made a move again, pushing Damen to the ground, trying to stab him again.

They wrestled for the control of the knife the ugly man carried, unsuccessfully for Damen, who was losing quickly. He was not used to fighting for a weapon, he had never been one to bring a dagger to a fist fight, and it showed.

He was under the man now, overpowered. The brute raised the dagger to bring down a final blow when he heard something and raised his face towards it.

Damen saw his eyes widen impossibly, and a gesture of terror fell over his full face, pulling over his mouth.

“It cannot be.” He muttered, his voice as ugly as him. Damen took advantage of the distraction and pushed him off himself. Damen noticed his usual strength was lacking and blamed the ever-growing pool of blood under him.

The man retreated quickly, now uncaring of Damen’s presence.

“It is not you. It cannot be you.” He kept saying. “No!” He yelled suddenly. “Do not come closer!”

Someone placed their hand over Damen’s shoulder, and he raised his head to see them.

A young man, not older than 20, and with the most beautiful face Damen had ever seen.

His hand a terribly cold upon Damen’s burning skin.

“Are you afraid of me, Govart?” The stranger asked, cocking his head slightly to the side. Damen saw that the yellow hair he had seen belonged to him as a ringlet fell gracefully on his shoulder.

“You’re not real, you’re not. “Damen’s attacker, Govart, was now crawling away from them, still terrified of the young blond.

“Get lost, Govart.” The man ordered him and Govart whimpered in fear. “You know what we do to traitors and murderers.”

Govart didn’t need to be told twice, as he stood up, clumsy and shaking, and fled away from them, running like he was being chased.

Damen was now gasping for breath, and the man crouched next to him, not letting go of his shoulder, but supporting him as best as he could.

Damen looked into his eyes. They revealed nothing, but Damen could still appreciate their beauty.

“How did a barbarian like you managed to piss _him_ off so spectacularly?”

Damen would have very much liked to answer him, but his eyes closed before he could.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prince tensed at the closeness but didn’t back away.   
> Damen grabbed his hand and placed it over his heart.   
> “Don’t touch me, you-“ He stopped in his tracks. His hand was cold, his long, fine fingers seemed like claws over Damen’s pained body. Because he didn’t say anything, Damen covered the pale hand over with his, ensuring he would feel the beat.  
> “I am not dead.” He enunciated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All your comments are wonderful!!   
> Thank you very much for reading!! 
> 
> Now you'll meet the dead gang!! I'm sorry for killing our faves :)   
> It was a painful necessity :)

 

 

When Damen regained consciousness his first words were:

“My head doesn’t hurt.”

Someone in his vicinity snorted and Damen bit his cheek to quiet himself. His near constant migraine was gone, and he was extremely alright with that.

He moved to sit straight but a sting on his side stopped him, and he hissed.

“I was stabbed.” He reasoned out loud.

“No kidding, pal.” A voice said. Damen looked around and found himself in the middle of a circle of strangers, no longer in the woods, but in some shady bar. The smell of old wood and strong alcohol painted a pretty scene of familiarity in the place; it was obviously a frequented site, and Damen thought himself lucky to have been attacked near it. A hand helped him push himself up to a sitting position. “Let’s get you up, friend.”

It belonged to a bearded man with a charming smile, dark hair, and cheerful eyes. Damen took his hand and propped himself using the man’s weight in his favor. Standing up made him dizzy.

“Thank you.” He hadn’t let go of the man yet, steadying himself in the ground. “Where am I- Oh gods!” Damen shrieked.

The man’s throat was slit, a fairly big red line going from side to side, so huge that, as the man cocked his head to stare at him quizzically, he saw the white of the trachea.

“Yes?” He seemed oblivious to the deadly problem.

“Your- your-“

“My… Oh! You mean my throat?” The man laughed. “I know. Nasty looking, right? I spurred the wrong lover, apparently.”

“You should be dead,” Damen told him in all seriousness. He may not be the best at healing, but he knew killing wounds, and this one was it.

“Hear that! I should be dead!” The man patted him on the back, all big smiles. “You’re a funny one. The name’s Lazar, at your service.”

Damen gaped at him.

“You should be dead.” He repeated. It was vital information. Well, not vital anymore, was it?

“Stop staring. It’s rude.” Someone else said. Damen couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. It was morbidly disgusting. The flesh around the un-bleeding wound moved and shifted as Lazar spoke.

“I apologize- what is _wrong_ with you?!” Damen whipped his head at the person.

A young man was standing next to Lazar, fists over his hips and a sneer over his lips; and around his throat, the marks of rope burn clear as day over his fair skin.

Just as was the case with Lazar, he either didn’t know or didn’t care.

Damen gestured confusedly at his throat, trying not to say anything else. The boy rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I know. Don’t say it. Why is he even here?” The last part seemed aimed at Lazar. “If he’s akielon, shouldn’t he be over there? Or somewhere else?” Lazar shrugged.

“You’re asking the wrong man.”

“You’re _always_ the wrong man.”

“Then why do you still-“ Loud steps on the wooden floor cut Lazar off. “Ah, your Highness! You’re joining us in our interrogation?”

“You haven’t asked anything!”

“Shut up, Aimeric.” The newcomer’s voice was ice cold steel and clarity. Damen recognized him immediately.

“You saved me.” He said in awe. Beautiful, blond, and brave. Damen could ask for nothing more.

“Saved is a strong word. There was nothing there to save.” He stated, his eyes analyzing Damen’s body carefully.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re forgiven.” He dismissed the words with a wave. “Your name?” Damen’s chest puffed with pride.

“King Damianos of Akielos, the first.”

“Uh-oh,” Aimeric muttered. One of the blond beauty’s eyebrows raised.

“I thought Theomedes was king.”

“My father has been dead for months.” Damen frowned. “I had supposed the news had traveled through all of Vere.”

“Probably, but where not in Vere,” Lazar told him as he pushed Damen back to have him sit on a chair. Damen let him, and the support the backrest gave him eased the pain in his guts.

“Not in the way it matters, anyway.” Aimeric finished.

“You have a brother. A bastard.” The blond man hadn’t stopped frowning.

“Prince Kastor.”

“Kastor.” He tried the name in his pretty mouth. It sounded funny, a traditional akielon name butchered in veretian. “How would you say he is like?”

“My brother?”

“Egocentric? Envious? Hot-headed? Anyone sending Govart must have been in quite a hurry to get rid of you.”

“Rid of me?”

“You’re a bit slow, aren’t you? Can’t have been an extremely great king if you take this long to realize you’re dead.” That was officially the craziest thing that Damen had been told all night. He didn’t even know if he had the energy to explain he was very much alive, and still bleeding from his wound.

“I’m not dead.” He said as slowly as he could. The three men snorted.

“Yes, you are,” Aimeric smirked. “Are you really as slow as the prince says?”

“I’m not slow,” Damen grunted. “And I’m not dead.”

“You were stabbed and lost too much blood. I would know, it’s all over my clothes now.” The prince pushed a strand of hair out of his face. “That wound killed you.”

“I am not dead. The wound is still bleeding.” And hurting, he didn’t add.

“They do that sometimes.” Lazar quipped, cheerfully, and Damen almost growled at him.

“If your brain can’t handle it, don’t think about it too deep.” The prince mocked him with a cold smile. “You have all eternity to get used to the- what are you doing?”

Instead of answering, Damen kept trying to find his pulse. On his wrist, under his jaw, over his heart. It wasn’t too fast, but it was steady, and more importantly, it was there.

Damen stood up and walked in a straight line towards the blond prince. With his long strides, he got there in just a few steps.

The prince tensed at the closeness but didn’t back away.

Damen grabbed his hand and placed it over his heart.

“Don’t touch me, you-“ He stopped in his tracks. His hand was cold, his long, fine fingers seemed like claws over Damen’s pained body. Because he didn’t say anything, Damen covered the pale hand over with his, ensuring he would feel the beat.

“ _I am not dead.”_ He enunciated.

“You’re not dead.” The prince agreed, blinking slowly. Neither of them moved away. “Aimeric.” The boy perked up at his name. “Go tell Paschal we need him down here. Immediately.” He rushed through a door.

“Well then, King Damianos,” he said, backing away from Damen at last. “it is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance.” He sounded like this situation was anything but pleasurable, but Damen was beginning to suspect those were his feelings about everything. “I am Prince Laurent of Vere, I _am_ dead, and you’re going to help me.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Regent is called Richard so we can call him "Dick" ofc  
> I'm not too pleased with this chapter, or how short it is, but bear with me, soon the good parts will start.

 

To Damen’s dismay, this Paschal person was also dead, but he was much nicer than the other three.

He was a grown man with a tired face and steady hands, and whose most prominent feature was the left side of his head, where the bone was sunk. When Paschal caught Damen watching the old wound, he said:

“If you ask politely, I’ll answer.”

Damen lowered his eyes to the floor, not wanting to make a bigger fool of himself. It was so terribly different; not only were these people veretians but dead ones. If Damen thought cultural differences were difficult with one aspect, the other took the feeling of not belonging to another level.

“What happened to you all?”

“Well, Lazar made a one-night lover mad. We don’t know what was said between them, but it was enough that he went looking for vengeance.” Paschal moved around Damen, opening and closing drawers while pulling out bandages and cloths. “I’m afraid I cannot sew you, your majesty,” he sighed. “You will be fine with some tight bandages, but it will not heal as fast. I was not expecting to have any live person under my care.”

“It’s fine, thank you.”

Paschal began cleaning the blood on Damen’s skin; now that he had taken off his tattered shirt, it was easier to see how far it had gone: even though in Damen’s opinion, the stab wound wasn’t terribly big, the blood had spread all over his chest and ribs. The wet cloth Paschal was washing him with took away the unclean and sticky feeling, and Damen was grateful.

“Aimeric’s story is more complicated.” Paschal continued. “He made some mistakes, he trusted people he shouldn’t have and betrayed those he cared for the most. In the end, it turned out to difficult to bear, and he hung himself.”

“How terrible,” Damen mussed out loud. “To kill one’s self to escape, and not be able to do so.” Aimeric had wanted to avoid his consciousness and had instead become trapped for all eternity, or at least, many years. It sounded incredibly frustrating. Paschal grunted in agreement. “And you?”

“Me?” Paschal huffed. “Mine’s just ridiculous. Raise your arm, please- Yes, thank you, hold it there. I was assassinated, but it took them long enough. They kept trying to poison me. Can you believe it? Try and poison a royal physician, an expert in venoms and how to avoid them.” He shook his head while he finished tying the bandage. “After months of subtlety, they gave up and pushed me out a window. Almost four floors, you see. There was nothing to heal me from that.” He shook his head, smirking.

“You find it funny?” Damen asked.

“They were so stupid.” Paschal chuckled. “I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t really matter anymore. I’m dead. I can laugh at the situation all I want now.”

While disturbing, the thought made sense, Damen thought. Also, he considered better to laugh at some assassin’s incompetence than remaining angry at them.

“Who wanted you dead?”

“The man who killed my brother and needed to get rid of the evidence.”

Damen wondered if being cryptic was something learnt while dead, or if it was a cultural thing. He had no idea how that statement answered his question, so he decided to move on to another.

“And the prince?” Paschal’s face darkened and for a moment, his gentle eyes were angry.

“Stabbed to death.” He gritted out, and Damen got the feeling that was all he was going to get.

“Were your killers ever caught?”

“You tell us.” Prince Laurent’s voice quipped from the door behind Damen as he walked in. “Is Richard of Vere still a member of the council?”

“I don’t know who…” Damen trailed off.

“Brown hair, blue eyes, a beard.” Paschal provided. “Bulky.”

“That describes half of the council.” He complained.

“Has a taste for children.” The prince added, and Damen remembered the man sitting next to King Auguste. He grimaced in disgust, remembering the face of the kid under the table.

“I see he’s still doing his thing.” Prince Laurent said, his voice unnaturally cold.

“He killed you?” He asked Paschal, disbelief in his voice. What reason could a nobleman have to kill a physician? What could have had happened?

“And Aimeric, and his highness, and my brother, and many others,” Paschal said in a soft voice.

It revolted Damen’s stomach to think a man like that walked free of his crimes and enjoyed of a comfortable lifestyle. He couldn’t even think of an appropriate word for a man like that.

“You’re going to help us with that.” Prince Laurent told him, his tone giving no room to uncertainty. It was an order. “With your help, he’ll be brought to justice.”  In the prince’s eyes was almost a manic shine that Damen didn’t like very much.

“How?” He asked. “I’m here, and they’re there.”

“For now. But he thinks you’re dead. And we know you’re not. And you’ll know what we know to prove he is the mastermind behind the royal family’s suffering. You are the best advantage we could ever have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Damen voice*: is there anyone here who wasn't killed by the Regent????
> 
> I promise chapters will be longer, and I'll come back and address everyone's death more clearly. I just needed to get this scene out of the way.   
> Please go ahead and tell me what you think! All your comments make my day and I love them


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aimeric stammered.   
> “I- I don’t know, I’ve never- Would never believe- It’s never been a-“  
> Damen was about to take it back when Aimeric smiled at him, so sweet he almost forgot he was a cadaver.   
> “I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeyyyy
> 
> SORRY   
> I haven't forgotten about this!!   
> I just.... Suck at sticking to my plans :´)   
> Send help

 

Prince Laurent guided Damen through the rooms and into a heavily furnished study room.

“What is this place supposed to be?” Damen mussed out loud.

“Your guess is as good as ours.” The prince answered as he arranged piles of loose paper sheets into groups. “Though I believe our guesses would be closer, considering the cultural differences between us.”

Damen opened his mouth then promptly closed it. There was no point in arguing. 

“You want me to help you,” he walked up to the table, watching the prince’s graceful hands work.

“I do not _want_.” The prince spat. “I get. I succeed. I win. You will help me.” He analyzed the now organized stacks. Damen watched with fascination the intelligent movement behind those blue eyes. He could see the wheels turning and fitting; the prince started rearranging some particular sheets quietly: from the first pile to the third, from the top to the bottom, to the fifth to the second then back to the fifth but placed upside down. A frown darkened his pretty features. He turned and pulled a book from a shelf and skimmed through it. He pursed his lips and removed a paper sheet from the pile closest to him.

He huffed in annoyance and cocked his head, his silky hair cascading over his shoulder and Damen sighed, enchanted by the view. Thank the Gods Nikandros wasn’t here to lecture him; his friend would have very strong opinions about this bossy beauty, aside from the fact that he was blond.

“Are you done?” The prince asked.

“Done doing what? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Done admiring me. I know all about my fair complexion and sky-blue eyes, and all that nonsense, but do refrain yourself from distractions. I want this done as efficiently as you are capable of, however little that may be.

“And considering you’re distracting me, do go out. I thought you might be able to contribute but since all you’ve done while I work is stare and fantasize about running your fingers through my hair, I believe it’s for the best. I will call you when I have decided on the plan.”

“I do not- uhm- you hair isn’t- I am a king.” Damen finished lamely. He didn’t even know what to complain about to first. Laurent cut him with an open palm gesture.

“Do not embarrass yourself any further. I trust you can find your way back to the bar?”

Damen once again opened his mouth to talk back but considering he had no idea what to say and that Prince Laurent was ignoring him in favor of his papers, Damen closed his mouth with an audible click and walked out, muttering curses in akielon.

 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .

 

 

Aimeric was sitting alone at the bar, watching absentmindedly the bottom of a colored glass bottle. He hummed in greeting when Damen sat down next to him, hissing in discomfort.

“Is there any alcohol in here?” He asked.

“No, sorry. I’m afraid we used it all to clean your wound.”

“Funny.” Damen deadpanned and Aimeric smirked.

“I know I am but what are you?”

That did make Damen chuckle lightly.

“Alive.”

“Ouch.”

Damen doubted for a second. Did that count as offensive towards the dead? Had he offended him again?

Aimeric seemed to sense the sudden tension and laughed, pushing at his shoulder good-naturedly.

“You’re alright there, King Damianos. You haven’t destroyed my delicate ego.”

Damen could breathe once again and shook his head, smiling.

“And here I thought your living compatriots were complicated.”

“Well, they aren’t locked below ground with their over twenty years of trauma.”

“You’ve been here for over twenty years?” Damen sputtered.

“Me? No, no. Barely five, it is Lazar who has been here that long. He really thought he was in Hell.”

Damen nodded, he wanted to ask about Laurent, but wasn’t sure how to-

“Prince Laurent has been here for seven years. He can probably tell you how many months and days, too.”

“How did you…” Damen trailed off.

“You two get strange looks in your eyes when talking about each other. It’s not difficult to recognize it.”

 “He speaks of me?” He had been there for less than a few hours.

“Not politely, if it is what you’re imagining. He called you a brute, an oaf, and a giant animal.” Aimeric’s eyes were back at the bottom of the bottle.

“He’s not particularly courteous.”

“Never has been.” Aimeric laughed. “He used to talk back to everyone, back in the castle. Since he rarely got in trouble it was extremely entertaining to watch.”

“Was there not anyone who would set him straight?” Damen thought of his own father, of a time when he was still young and was punished for misbehaving. If Laurent hadn’t had any sort of discipline while growing up, it could explain the bratty attitude.

“Of course there was! King Auguste was always watching! Though more often than not, he encouraged him.” Aimeric’s eyes seemed very far away, lost in his own memories as Damen was himself. “He used to be so much more fun. I am younger than him, by a lot more than we appear now. I looked up to him for so many things. We never played, he wasn’t one for running in the grass as me and my brothers did but he’s always been clever. He created games from nothing, and we all played along to his rules, and we _liked_ it.” He threw his head back in laughter and Damen saw the cruel reminder of reality: the young boy Aimeric had been no longer existed, he had killed himself.

“I think, out of all of us, Prince Laurent is the only one who hasn’t made peace with his end.” Damen wondered if he really was the best person to be telling this. It felt like intruding into a life he hadn’t been invited to share. “Lazar, Paschal, me, we have found freedom in death. It can be extremely liberating, you know?” He was now speaking passionately, and Damen nodded along, even if he didn’t know what he was referring to. “It’s _healing_ ,” Aimeric emphasized.

They shared a moment in silence, both understanding what had been spoken.

“Is there really nothing you miss?” Damen asked.

Aimeric gulped and hid his face as if he was blushing. Would he be, Damen wondered, if he had any blood?

“There is someone, yes.” When he didn’t elaborate Damen leaned forward.

“His name is Jord.” Aimeric giggled, then covered his mouth with his hands, like he had not meant to make that sound.

“Jord.” Damen tested the name.

“He was a member of the Royal Guard. Probably still is. We were getting together before all this,” he pointed to his throat. “Happened. He was sweet to me. Sweeter than anyone had ever been.”

It was at that moment it really hit Damen how young Aimeric was. Barely nineteen, barely more than a boy. He had probably never seen a real battle.

Damen swallowed.

“When I go back,” his voice was deep with intent. “If you want, I could try and find him. See how he is. Deliver a message.” Aimeric’s eyes widened. “If you want,” Damen added again, a little embarrassed.

Aimeric stammered.

“I- I don’t know, I’ve never- Would never believe- It’s never been a-“

Damen was about to take it back when Aimeric smiled at him, so sweet he almost forgot he was a cadaver.

“I’ll think about it. Thank you.”

Damen mumbled a ‘you’re welcome’. He had never offered anything like that before.

But his day had already been so goddamned weird, he thought to himself. What was one more thing?

The sound of increasingly louder steps pulled them out of their conversation. Prince Laurent stood at the door, still wearing the unimpressed look, this time adding a condescending eyebrow.

“Come with me.” He ordered, clearly speaking to Damen. “It’s ready.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *holds up hands in surrender* I know it's short!! But with this out of the way, whoaaa, next chapter's gonna be fun!!   
> Remember what happens next in the movie? (since we're sort of sticking to it?)   
> I'll leave you a tiny clue: hopscotch ;)
> 
> aaaannyyyway i should be updating soon  
> i hope 
> 
> thank you for your comments!!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave kudos and comments if you liked it!  
> And if you notice a mistake, don't doubt to tell me, let's all support each other with constructive criticism.


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